


The Flowers of Carterhaugh

by Sunfreckle



Series: Sunfreckle's Podfics [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Tam Lin (Traditional Ballad)
Genre: (download link in the notes), Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, Nonbinary Jehan, Other, Podfic Available, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 12:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12606808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle
Summary: A retelling of the Scottish ballad of Tam Lin about forbidden roses, brave lovers and crossing the faerie queen.





	The Flowers of Carterhaugh

**Author's Note:**

> I have been wanting to do a retelling of this Scottish ballad for ages and Jehan and Montparnasse belong in this world of brave lovers and faerie knights. Dedicated to Sybille for cheering this idea on from the start.
> 
> My wise beta (and sister) pointed out that this is really a story that ought to be told, not read, so I turned it into a podfic. (Thank you Catherine for helping with pronounciation!) But I still wanted to upload the full text, in case people prefer reading or want to read along :)
> 
> You can download the podfic here:
> 
> [[Download mp3](https://dl.orangedox.com/x6vNqx) (~10 mB / 30 min)]

There once was a child born to a very noble family and their name was Jehan. They had the light of the moon in their eyes and the light of the sun in their hair and they were as blythe as they were bonny and both a great deal.

Within the walls of their family castle Jehan had everything a youth’s heart might desire. Their father doted on them and surrounded them with fine clothes, good company and many pretty things. But Jehan’s heart had a wildness about it that could not be seen in the gentleness of their smile, or the modest blush on their cheeks. Whenever they were sat at a window, playing their music, stitching a seam or reading a book, they could not help but glance out and gaze across the fields. For across the fields lay Carterhaugh, where the trees grew so close together there was naught but shade on the grass and where in that shade grew roses so wild they cared not for sunlight.

It was for those roses that Jehan’s heart yearned most of all. Roses, people whispered, that would never wilt. But they also whispered warnings and no young person was ever allowed near Carterhaugh. Not even Jehan.

One day Jehan sat down to thread their loom to weave themself a mantle, but none of the colours could charm them. Out of the window their gaze drifted once again and sparks danced in their eyes as they looked towards the wood of Carterhaugh. With quick fingers they chose the deepest forest green and began their weaving with a song on their lips. With every other row, however, their head was turned towards the window again and finally Jehan’s song could no longer drown out the singing in their heart.

Silently they slipped out of their room, down the many steps and out of the castle. The further they got, the faster their feet and when they reached Carterhaugh they were breathless and bright-eyed from running. They slowed down when they walked into the cool shade of the trees, catching their breath and wandering from tree to tree until the smell of roses drifted towards them.

Jehan held still and nearly gasped in delight. Never before had they seen such a pretty spot. The trees were slightly parted here. The grass grew green around a natural well of clear, fresh water and all around it grew wild roses. In crisp white, soft pink and deep red, with briars winding and twisting between them.

“Oh, you’re almost too pretty to pick,” Jehan sighed. “If I can have only one of you for my hair, I will be satisfied.” And they leaned down to pick a white rose.

Barely had they touched the stem or a shadow stirred beside them and a dark, melodic voice spoke:

“What is this? A beauty picking my roses? And without my having given permission…”

Jehan started, jumping back up with the rose in their hand. Before them stood a tall stranger, clad all in black. His hair was as dark as the night, his skin as pale as moonlight and his eyes as green as the forest. Jehan’s own eyes were wide with surprise. They had never seen a Fae before, but they were sure they were looking at one now.

“What makes you think you can pick my roses?” the handsome stranger smiled. “How dare you even come here at all, I have not given you leave to enter these woods.”

Jehan was almost as surprised to be spoken to in such a way as they were to meet a faerie. “Carterhaugh does not belong to you!” they protested boldly. “And neither do these roses. Who are you to claim that they are!”

The stranger blinked at them with a look of equal surprise, but this lasted only a moment. Very soon he started smiling and said in a tone of charm and amusement: “My name is Montparnasse, and who might _you_ be, if you say that all this belongs to you instead?”

“I am Jehan,” they replied defiantly. “And I did not say they belonged to me. But if they did, I would be generous with them. There are so many roses here, one or two cannot be missed.” They held his gaze as they slipped the rose they already picked behind their ear, for they would suffer no mere stranger, Fae or otherwise, to tell them what they could and could not do.

Montparnasse laughed softly and the sound wrapped around Jehan like an evening breeze at dusk. “If you wanted roses for your hair,” he cooed. “You only had to ask, pretty one.” Without another word he reached out towards the briars and picked six crisp white roses. With his elegant, slender fingers he wove them through Jehan’s copper locks, in such a way that they crowned their head with white.

Jehan did not speak a word through all of this, but their cheeks turned redder with every rose.

“There,” Montparnasse smiled, slanting his head slightly as he looked at them.

Jehan had been bold only a moment before, but now they knew not what to say. “Thank you,” they said finally and after looking at him for a quiet moment they held out their hand.

“My pleasure,” Montparnasse murmured. “They become you.” He gently took their offered hand and raised it to his lips. The kiss he pressed on it was hardly more than the ghost of a touch, but it felt to Jehan as if they could feel it in their entire body.

Without another word and with their cheeks burning nearly as red as their hair they withdrew their hand and hastily hurried off, leaving Montparnasse standing between the trees.

He watched them go with an expression caught between delight and regret and only when they were quite out of sight did he turn back towards the shadows, to vanish like he had appeared.

Jehan ran all the way home with their heart dancing within their chest. The roses nestled in their hair spread perfume all around them and it was as if they could still feel Montparnasse’s eyes lingering on their face and his lips lingering on their hand. They returned to their loom and wove without restlessness for the rest of the day, because now they were weaving the rustling trees and the smell of roses and the smile on Montparnasse’s lips.

“If I could feel this way for all my days,” Jehan sighed to themself. “I would never be discontent again.”

Such feelings do not last, however, and the stories were not true. Even the roses of Carterhaugh wilted at length. One morning Jehan woke up to find them all faded and withered and their heart ached. Only now it did not just ache for roses. It ached for the charming voice they heard in their sleep and the gentle touches they imagined they could still feel tangled in their hair.

So once again Jehan left off their weaving, slipped out of the castle and ran to Carterhaugh, by the very same road they had taken before.

Barely had the sound of water and the smell of roses reached them or they saw a figure step forward from the shadows. Jehan’s heart leapt and Montparnasse smiled. He looked just as charming and composed as before, but there was something in his eyes that seemed eager.

“Here you are again,” he said. “Looking like a bird fled from a cage.”

“The roses wilted,” Jehan replied, dark eyes fixed on him. They could have given so many more reasons for their return, but they swallowed them all in favour of a single brilliant smile.

Montparnasse gave them a grin in return and shook his head. “Such a beautiful little bird shouldn’t go without flowers,” he said and this time he took up a briar strewn with pink roses. Carefully he picked the seven prettiest and Jehan walked willingly to his side so he could weave them through their hair.

Once again Jehan thanked him when he stepped back to admire his work, but this time they did not flee back home so quickly. No, this time they stayed awhile and the wind itself seemed to hold its breath to hear what was said between Montparnasse and Jehan as they wandered through the wood.

Eventually Jehan felt they had to go home. If they didn’t, they would surely be missed. But instead of holding out their hand for Montparnasse, they raised their face to his.

“Goodbye, Montparnasse,” they said softly.

“Will you come back, little bird?” he asked and for a moment a shadow of worry passed over his face.

“I will,” they promised.

Montparnasse smiled and when they didn’t step away, he leaned forward and very softly kissed their cheek.

For one brilliant moment it was as if the sun finally managed to shine straight through the trees and then Jehan hid their face and hurried home, heart racing with happiness.

The pink roses seemed to wilt even faster than the white ones. Jehan sat weaving their forest green cloth and every time they moved with the thread a petal seemed to tumble past their face. Everybody at the court could tell Jehan was more absentminded and more restless than they had ever been before, but whenever someone asked, Jehan just shook their head and told them that they were merely fretting over their new cloak.

That this was not the case was clear enough, for barely had the sun risen on another day or Jehan left their weaving alone again and ran back to Carterhaugh.

This time it was very clear that Montparnasse had been waiting for them and Jehan’s spirit danced within them because of it. Before either of them had spoken any sort of greeting, they had already slipped their hand in his.

“I’m glad you’ve come back, Jehan,” Montparnasse whispered.

“I’m glad you are here, Montparnasse,” Jehan smiled.

They wandered around, talking of everything in their hearts and minds and while they walked Montparnasse picked seven roses of the deepest red. Whenever he picked one, he carefully wove it into Jehan’s hair, running his fingers through it so lovingly that Jehan was sure they had never felt anything like it before.

Crowned with red roses they walked on Montparnasse’s arm and in that moment they were so happy that their happiness spilled from their lips in song. Montparnasse listened to them sing and when they finally had done, he smiled and murmured:

“Would you believe me when I say I’ve heard no faerie music sweeter?”

Jehan smiled back and said: “I believe you.” Because they could see the truth of it in his eyes.

Cruel was the time that ran out on them and heavy was Jehan’s heart when they reluctantly said they must go home again.

“Will you come back?” Montparnasse asked once again.

“I’ll come back,” Jehan promised. They looked up at Montparnasse, who still looked pale as moonlight in the shadow of the many leaves, and asked: “Kiss me goodbye?”

Montparnasse’s smile was warm as he pressed his lips against theirs and Jehan carried his warmth with them all the way back home.

There they finished weaving their cloth with the smell of roses in their hair and happiness shining in their eyes. When they had sewn this cloth into a mantle, they thought, they would start another. For Montparnasse. Only no sooner had this thought entered their head or a shadow followed it. Montparnasse would never wear a mantle they had woven. Just like he would never eat bread baked by human hands. He was Fae and even if he truly loved them, he would never be truly theirs.

Soberly Jehan took down the cloth and began to cut and sew their cloak. But soon there was tear with every stitch and as the days went by Jehan grew pale and sorrowful. They wilted like the flowers in their hair and all the nobles of the court whispered anxiously how Jehan, who had been so glowing with health and happiness, now seemed pale as milk and brittle as glass.

Jehan did not go back to Carterhaugh, for what good could it do them to be with their lover if they only had to leave him again? Their mantle lay unfinished and their cheeks were stained with tears.

At last their father could no longer bear to see their sorrow and he came to their room and sat with them like he used to do when they were little. “My dear,” he said softly. “Do not make me watch you waste away. If there is anything that ails you, you can tell me.”

Jehan bowed their head, but would not answer him.

“Please do not think I cannot see what is hurting you,” their father said gently. “I never saw someone so sick with love as you. Will you not tell me who it is you love?”

“I will not,” Jehan refused. “For we cannot be together.”

“Jehan,” their father spoke gravely. “Whomever it is at this court that you love. Whether they wear their hair long or short, whether their pockets are full of gold or filled with coal, whether they be of noble blood or common birth, if they have your love they shall have mine.”

At this Jehan cried and kissed their father’s cheek, but they still would not tell him of Montparnasse. No father, no matter how loving and gentle, could help the child that fell in love with a Fae. From this silence their dejected father concluded that whomever Jehan had fallen in love with did not love them back and soon the whole court looked suspiciously from one to the other, wondering who it could be that Jehan was wilting away for.

No one learned the answer, however, and eventually one of the young men of the court could take it no longer. He came to Jehan, head bowed and hands twisting and begging their forgiveness muttered:

“If there is anyone you should wish to forget…there are weeds that grow in the underbrush of Carterhaugh with sharp leaves and short stems that will make an aching heart forget who it is aching for.”

Having said this, he bowed and hurried away, leaving Jehan with their unfinished mantle on their lap and tears on their cheeks. For a moment they sat in silence, but then they let the mantle slide to the floor, dropping needle and thread with it, and once more they walked to Carterhaugh. Not with flying feet and laughing heart this time, but with determined steps and a grim face.

Nothing stirred in the woods when they entered, nor near the well when they kneeled there. Roses still bloomed all around, but Jehan did not look at them. Instead they searched the underbrush for the weeds with the sharp leaves and the short stems and when they found them, they plucked the leaves off one by one.

Their head was bowed so low they did not see the shadows stir, but even when Montparnasse spoke to them they did not move from their spot.

“Little bird,” his voice came apprehensively from behind them. “Why do you pick those weeds? Pick my white roses instead.”

“No,” Jehan said quietly. “I will pick the weeds.”

“Little bird,” Montparnasse urged again, his voice closer this time. “Why do you pick those weeds? Pick my pink roses instead.”

“No,” Jehan spoke, swallowing tears. “I will pick the weeds.”

“Jehan,” Montparnasse said, voice trembling. “Why do you pick those weeds? Pick my red roses instead!”

“ _No_ ,” Jehan cried out and they rose to their feet with the weeds clutched to their chest. “I will take the weeds.”

Now Montparnasse knew that they understood what it meant to be gathering this weed and there was pain on his face and tears in his eyes. “Why do you want to forget me?” he cried. “Is it not enough I have to wait here until you wander back again?”

“Wait for me?” Jehan burst out. “It is me that has to leave knowing that you will never stay with me! It is me that fell in love with a faerie knight! If I can’t have you, I will forget you and you shall not stop me!”

But before they could turn away Montparnasse grasped their hands, crushing the leaves they held within them and pleaded: “If I were not Fae, but human like you. Would you still love me? Would you still want me to come back with you?”

“If you were human,” Jehan said with trembling voice. “I would take you home to my father and I would ask you to marry me.”

Montparnasse’s face twisted with love and sorrow and in a voice that suddenly sounded more human to Jehan than they had ever heard him before, he spoke:

“I was not born to the faeries, I am as human as you are. When I was barely fourteen, I rode out on a horse that was not mine to take and I happened upon the Faerie Queen and her knights. I had never seen any hunting party so fine. So I chased them. I wanted to join them. My head was full of silver bells and fine faerie garments. I did not care for home, I went with them willingly. The Queen of the Faeries took me as one of her own and I would have happily stayed one of her knights, but for you. Until I met you, I had no use for being human, but now the faerie court has lost its brightness and if I could, Jehan, I would go with you.”

Jehan was all wonder. At first they could not even speak. The thought that Montparnasse could be mortal had never even entered their head. When finally they began to believe it, they smiled so wide the tears were instantly gone from their eyes and they said: “So for all your pretty ways you were never a Fae, but a stolen child!”

Montparnasse did not laugh, however. “I was never a Fae, but I joined the faerie host nearly seven years ago. Almost seven years have I been under the Queen’s power. Tomorrow the seven years are past and I will be more Fae than mortal and hers for ever more.”

Jehan had cried and they had laughed, but now their face sobered and their eyes shone with determination. “If you were stolen away to the faerie realm, you can be stolen back to the mortal world,” they said decidedly.

“There might be a way,” Montparnasse said doubtfully.

“Tell me,” Jehan demanded. “And I’ll do it, so that you may belong to yourself and to me and to no one else.” The weeds that were to make them forget had dropped to the ground, they themselves forgotten and now all Jehan was holding was Montparnasse’s hands.

“If you want to win my freedom,” he said. “You must steal me away from the Faerie Queen. Tomorrow at midnight the Fae will ride past Miles Cross. You must wait for us there and when you see me, you must pull me off my horse and claim me for your groom.”

“But how shall I know you?” Jehan asked. “Riding in the moonlight with all the other faerie knights.”

“I shall not be able to look at you or speak to you,” Montparnasse replied. “But though we shall ride one after the other, I shall ride almost directly behind the Faerie Queen. So that you can be sure, I will leave my head uncovered and I shall have my right hand gloved and my left hand bare. If you know me when you see me, then run to me and pull me off my horse to claim me.”

Jehan listened to all this without any fear. There was no room left for fear in their lover’s heart.

“The Faerie Queen will not let me go easily,” Montparnasse said urgently. “But whatever happens, don't let me go until you know I am yours. Whatever she does to me, just hold me tight and fear me not and I will be yours and yours alone.”

“Then that is what I shall do,” Jehan promised and they sealed their promise with a kiss and another and another, until on unwilling feet they hurried back home, leaving their lover behind in the wood.

Now there were no tears and no roses in their hair, but Jehan had the fire of persistence in their heart. They sat down to their sewing and finished their mantle, not leaving their work for anyone and only raising their head when darkness fell on the following day. They waited for the moon to rise and when it did, they wrapped themself in their forest green mantle and stole away into the moonlit night.

With hopeful steps their feet carried them to Miles Cross and there they waited for the sound of horse’s hooves. Far before they heard these, however, they heard the tinkling of silver bells. Jehan held their breath and stood trembling under their cloak, for these were the sounds of the faerie procession. There came riding the Faerie Queen, with silver bells singing on her steed’s bridle. No one could be as beautiful in the midnight moonlight, but Jehan gave her not a second glance. Behind her a fine faerie knight rode on a black horse, Jehan let him pass. After him came a second noble on a brown steed, Jehan let him pass. And then there came a milk-white steed, ridden by a young man with his head uncovered and with his right hand gloved and his left hand bare and pale in the moonlight. He did not turn his head either left or right, but Jehan knew him.

“Montparnasse!” they cried, jumping forward and catching him by the arm. “Here I am to claim you as my groom!” And with a strength that was not to be denied they pulled him out of the saddle and off his horse, wrapping their arms firmly around him as soon as his feet hit the ground.

For a single moment Montparnasse’s eyes met Jehan’s, but then there was a cry of faerie voices and in his place there was suddenly a growling bear. There were eyes black as coal and claws to break bones, but Jehan only held him tighter and called out: “I hold you tight and fear you not, you shall be human again.”

The bear twisted and vanished away, but in its place there was now a snarling wolf. Sharp teeth gleamed in the moonlight, but Jehan only held him tighter and called out again: “I hold you tight and fear you not, you shall be my love again.”

The wolf recoiled and was no more, but in its place there was a now a hissing serpent. Coils twisted around their arms and fangs snapped at their face, but Jehan held fast and cried once more: “I hold you tight and fear you not, you shall be Montparnasse again!”

Jehan’s love and bravery outlasted the magic of the Fae. The strangling coils turned to trembling arms and with a sigh of relief Jehan hugged Montparnasse to their chest. He clung to them, naked skin shivering in the moonlight and quickly Jehan took off their mantle and wrapped him in it against the cold, their face shining with gladness. No fine faerie garments would clothe him now, but wool spun, woven and sewn by human hands would keep him warm.

“There,” Jehan said, voice hoarse with happiness. “Now we go home.”

But the Queen of the Faeries turned round on her steed, eyes glittering with anger. “I see you, mortal!” she cried out with venom. “And you have stolen my bonniest knight for a groom!”

“That I have!” Jehan called back boldly. “And you shall not have him back again!”

The Faerie Queen’s fair face twisted in fury and she hissed: “Had I known, Montparnasse, that love would lure you from my side. I would have taken your heart when I made you mine, and placed a stone in its place.”

All the Fae trembled, but Montparnasse stood beside Jehan free of fear. “Even with a stone for a heart,” he replied brazenly. “I would still have loved Jehan as soon as my eyes met theirs.”

A hateful heart can make even the greatest beauty hideous. The Faerie Queen was truly monstrous in that moment and she wished the lovers every ill her lips could form the words to.

But Montparnasse turned away from her with a sneer and Jehan paid her no heed at all. They were all smiles in the face of her curses and instead of replying they took Montparnasse by the hand and led him away. All the long way back to the castle they had their fingers fast entwined and so Jehan brought home their lover, wrapped in their very own coat.

The court rejoiced, for never had anyone had so charming a young man for a betrothed and Jehan was healthful and merry again. With every kiss from Montparnasse’s lips they seemed to grow lovelier, until there was not a finer couple to be found in all the land. Many blessings poured from many lips all around them and on their wedding day, when Montparnasse wove wild roses all through Jehan’s hair, they were both as lovely as any creatures blessed with perfect happiness could hope to be.

**Author's Note:**

> This retelling was inspired by this text:  
> http://tam-lin.org/versions/39A.html
> 
> And this song:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c3yTEUnyYDA&ab_channel=FolkAlleydotCom 
> 
> Apart from adding some extra fairy tale padding, I took out two important themes. First of all the pregnancy, which I removed not because I didn’t want Jehan to be pregnant, but because I really dislike the threat of not having the baby because they would be part Fae. And secondly the notion that Tam Lin/Montparnasse would be in danger of being sacrificed on to hell on Halloween. This I removed simply because the first version of this story I was told did not include it and I never learned to like it later. It does add tension to the story though, so I changed it for the seven year deadline.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this. I used to write fairy tales all the time and it was such fun to write one again!


End file.
